Fifty Shades of Wrong
by rknightley
Summary: It's after the break-up. Ana has (tried to) move on. Christian won't let go. He wants his sub back, and he'll do what it takes to have her again... She belongs to him.
1. Chapter 1

Fifty Shades of Wrong - Chapter 1

 **Hey, I'm glad you're reading. This is my first fanfiction story. It takes place after book 1 in the Fifty Shades trilogy. There was no marriage. There are no kids. It's just Christian and Ana, a few other people, and a whole lotta… ahem, well, things get heated… for mature readers...**

This is so wrong – on _so_ many levels. Wrong because his girlfriend is in the room next door, probably listening to every noise that comes from this bed. Wrong because I'm about to be married – to his business partner and best friend! Most of all wrong because we've tried this before and it didn't work.

But I know from experience. I have no choice in the matter, because what Christian Grey wants, he takes.

Tonight, that happens to be me.

What is it about this man that hooks me every time?

I should run. But I can't… I'm no match for the billionaire business tycoon, the most powerful man in this city. The man who buys businesses, tears them down, and sells them off piece by piece. He's ruthless and hungry, and so… _hot_. So much more than his partner—more powerful, more successful, and well, more everything. What he says is the only thing that goes.

It's been three tumultuous years since we split up. The split-up itself was brutal. It's not every day a girl leaves a man like that. But, I had to—for my own self-respect. The three years since has been a roller-coaster of lust and passion and…domination. I think we had more sex after the separation than we did during our brief time together.

I'm not completely innocent, however… I mean, I couldn't exactly turn him away. Have you _seen_ him? Dark, copper-color hair tousling his head. Sleek, slender physique, rippling definition, and those enigmatic gray eyes. I'm getting lightheaded imagining him… He truly is breathtaking…

It's unfair, really. No one should be armed with such beauty.

Still…he wanted to hurt me. Didn't he? I had to end it. What sane, self-respecting woman wouldn't?

And I had to do it in a way that let him know it was over.

Which is exactly how I ended up in the arms of his latest business partner, Bradly Russel. At the time, it hadn't occurred to me that it would mean Christian would still be in my life. Of course, he would! The two men work together every day. As a team, they host dinner parties, seminars, and other publicity events on grand, global scales. It doesn't even end there. Their families spend holidays together. They even vacation together. If you can call what Mr. Grey does vacation.

When he announced his serious relationship to Katrina, a blonde assistant of his, I thought Christian was finally moving on. I wasn't sure how I felt about it, however. It conjured up an array of tumultuous and tangled emotions, most of which settled in my chest, where they set up camp and remain today.

Bradly and I have a…lovely relationship. I'm pretty sure I've fallen for him. I _was_ sure…

Until Christian returned from an African safari, renewed in his mission to take ownership of me once again.

I don't want to hurt Bradly. But, Christian…

It's his command that holds me paralyzed, here in this – bedroom? It's a room, anyway. With a bed. A ginormous, four-post bed with heavy, red-velvet curtains and plenty of rope…

This can't be the bedroom he shares with _her_ … Katrina doesn't strike me as the type to…experiment.

In all the time I've known him, I've never been in this room.

Briefly, I wonder how many wrists have been tied in the knot dangling next to my head. The result in my stomach is unsettling. I'm lying in the middle, in nothing but a black thong and matching, lacy bra, which barely fit my oversized breasts. I can feel it about to snap from my fullness. Mr. Grey told me to be waiting in here for him. Ready. And I don't dare disobey.

I don't know what he'll do to his partner if I were to defy him. On that note, he has given me plenty of warning.

But, oh my. My head is swimming. How in the world did I get myself into this?

"Miss Steele," Christian said the night Bradly and I announced our engagement. "You're going to marry my best friend and partner. It practically makes us family."

Though Bradly and I had been together nearly a year by this point, it was the first time Christian had even come close to acknowledging our relationship. That night, surrounded by friends and family, champagne glasses lifted in a toast, and after his warm words of congratulations and well-wishes, Christian lowered himself to my ear in a hug for the public to see that all was well with us (considering the break up the tabloids covered in explicit detail, whether verified or not—mostly not).

"Before you marry my best friend," he murmured in my ear, "I'm going to teach you how to pleasure a man."

Though the words were shocking enough, it wasn't so much what he said, but _how_ he said it. There was real command in his voice. And velvet… My panties moistened on the spot and I nearly passed out.

"Whoa!" my fiancé said, catching me, laughing it off, oblivious to the promise his partner had just made to me. He took the untouched glass from my hand, making a show for our rapt audience. "That's enough to drink for tonight."

As I looked at my fiancé that night, I felt a pang of guilt. Guilt for entertaining the thought of me and Christian again.

Bradly's eyes are a crisp, cool blue, and ever so…piercing. They have a way of gripping you. He has his own way of dominating. On his head, is a permanent array of orderly locks, darker than Christian's auburn mess. As dark as an ebony night stained in a blue moon's light.

That night, with Bradley's arm around me, Christian's smile did not touch his eyes.

By now all his promises and demands and desires have come to a head, all at Christian's command, all in secret. Earlier tonight, I knew it was the end. We bumped into each other in the hall at yet another fundraiser for one of their projects. A dinner he's hosting!

"Oh, sorry, Mr.—Christian," I said.

He paused and, ignoring the fact that my fiancé and his girlfriend were a few feet away around the corner in his kitchen, he allowed the ghost of a smile to reach his perfect lips. He pinned me against the wall, his body inches from mine, and gently smoothed a strand of dark hair from my cheek. His gray eyes bore into me, capturing me by their rigid dominance.

"I've known you since you were in college, Ana," he breathed in my ear as he nibbled, goosepimpling me all over. "My god," he murmured, withdrawing to drink me in. "You are an object to behold." His eyes journeyed down my curves, landing on my breasts. "I've told you before, and I'll tell you again. You can't be serious about Bradly. I'll have you back, whatever it takes."

"Christian—"

"Fine, Ana," he grated, clinching his jaw. But he recovered quickly, returning his gaze to mine. "I don't want to argue with you. Not tonight. If you insist on moving forward with Bradly, well, that makes you an interest in the business. And, since I own sixty percent of the company, you _belong_ to me."

I didn't argue. I couldn't— Eyes. Captivated. Remember?

Lowering his lips to my ear once more, he whispered, "Tonight. You're going to be my submissive."

My entire body went numb, and my knees were in danger of buckling. Again, it wasn't what he said, but the _way_ he said it, that turned my body to Jell-O. I might have wet my panties a little. Flurries of heat shot up into my chest and my body reeled. Then I felt something...hard beneath his slacks press up against my front.

"It'll be like old times," he said in the hall while dinner guests mingled around the corner. "Say you'll submit to me. Say it." He stroked the back of his finger down my cheek, then tenderly brushed his thumb across my lips.

"I'm your submissive."

"And?"

"I will submit to you. Tonight."

"Good," he said, just before planting his lips on mine.

Before I knew what was happening, his tongue was in my mouth, claiming me for himself. His hand swept down my curves over my clothes. When he was done, he whispered against my lips, "Be ready for my instructions." And he walked off, leaving me there alone in the dim hall, my body reeling, and my mind racing.

His instructions came sooner than I expected. At dinner, sprawled across my napkin, which I crumpled up and held in my hand throughout the entire meal.

Soon, I'll be married, and these encounters won't happen anymore. Will it? That's what I'm wondering as I lay on his bed right now, in this room I've never been in, awaiting my dominant.

"I'm pleased to see you've followed my instructions." His voice is a velvet whisper at my ear, waking me from my reverie…

 **Thanks for reading. Tell me what you think? Do you want the dirty details? Or should I clean it up before I post?**


	2. Chapter 2

Fifty Shades of Wrong – Chapter 2

 **Before we begin, I'd like to thank you for all your feedback and encouragement on chapter 1. I read every one of your reviews and all of your email messages and I appreciate you taking the time to write. It means a lot to me. Your feedback truly has been a big help as I continue to write the story. Enjoy!**

I'm startled at the sudden materialization of his voice in my ear. I didn't see or hear him enter the room, or even feel the weight of him on the bed. Has he been in here this entire time, watching me undress from a dark corner? Or did he sneak past me undetected? This is the kind of thing he does that keeps me on my toes in this castle of a penthouse, always appearing from nowhere, always watching me. _Like a hawk_ , as Kate once said.

My heart pounds for its life as I wonder what sort of… punishment he intends to give me. And I can't believe, after all this time, I've given in. _Why_? I was doing so well at keeping my distance from him.

"I'm going to fuck you… _hard_." His breath is a velvet cloth easing down my neck, warm and strong and rooting me to the spot. I couldn't escape his bonds if I wanted to. Believe me, I've tried. For three long years I've tried. How can I still feel this way for this man who's _fifty shades of fucked up_?

This man who takes pleasure in punishing me? In _hurting_ me. What am I even doing here, completely exposed, save for my pink parts, and sprawled out on his oversized, red-curtained bed? Oh, I'm so confused—now, after three years of trying to move on, I'm more confused than ever!

This room must be next to the white room—the one he gave me before. The same Seattle skyline populates the view out the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, a distant pink sky blankets the city. Night is falling quickly. Too quickly…

"Your fragrance… Is that a new perfume?"

"Does it please you, Sir?" I ask, emphasizing the Sir to keep him placated. I know full well the courtesies he expects from his subs.

"Yes, it does please me, Miss Steele." He breathes me in, and I can tell he's struggling to control his appetite. "But you didn't answer my question."

"Yes, Sir," I answer, remembering when I opened the gift from my fiancé. My fiancé! Who has no idea what his business partner is about to do to me. My fiancé, who's only ever been the sweetest thing to me. I think of Bradly with his head of raven-color locks and piercing crystal blues…

We met one night as I was leaving Grey's Holdings. I had, for the third time, just given back the car Christian bought me and was making my escape. Each time I'd returned it before, Christian had given it right back with some irresistible way to compel me. Who did he think he was, anyway? Besides the richest man in the city, who gets away with anything he wants.

This time, I'd brought the car to his office so that he couldn't seduce me. Until I arrived, I'd forgotten about the elevator, his favorite place to pin me against a wall. It riled my inner-goddess to ride in it all the way up to his floor. When it was time to leave, I waited until Christian was preoccupied on an important call to sneak back into the elevator.

I had to! He had such a hold over me. I needed to keep my equilibrium, which was too often lost around him.

Bradly was coming as I was exiting the lobby entrance and we ran right into each other. Literally. I was sneaking a peek behind me to make sure I hadn't been followed. When I turned around, my forehead rammed right into Bradly's chiseled, dark-stubbled chin. His hands gripped my arms reflexively to hold me up. I looked up.

And then I stumbled back, dumbstruck by the flawlessness staring back at me—a pair of piercing blue eyes burning through me. They were so bright they conjured an image of sapphire gems in my mind.

"Ana Steele," he beamed, a warm smile emerging across his face, curling two perfect lips at the corners. "You wouldn't be sneaking away from Mr. Grey, would you?" There was a twinkle in his eye, like he was privy to an inside joke of some sort.

I tilted my head. "Do we… Have we met?" I asked.

"No." (Whew! That would have been awkward.) "Is there a soul in the city who doesn't know your beautiful face? It's plastered in every important magazine."

Did he just say… _beautiful_? I felt my cheeks warm. But there wasn't a spark or anything like that—not like when I fell into Christian's office for the first time.

"I was hoping we might run into each other one day."

Suddenly, my neck hairs stood at attention and I got the feeling I was being watched. I turned, but didn't see Christian anywhere in the buzzing lobby. _Oh my_ , if he saw this exchange between me and this stranger—one that could easily rival him in the eligible bachelor department—I would have surely been punished. My inner-goddess nearly fell over.

"I'm Bradly Russel." The gentleman extended a hand. I accepted, but he didn't shake as I thought he would. Instead he kissed my knuckles—gently, tenderly, like my hand was a delicate flower. I flushed with embarrassment, hoping no one around was paying any attention to us.

His name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. Later, I realized I'd heard the name passed around Christian's office. He was a colleague of Christian's, another billionaire, his fortune built by internet marketing. That night was the night Bradly first asked me on a date.

Not wanting to drag anyone else in the mess of me and Christian, I declined.

Then, after a month of Mr. Russel's persistence, continuous berating from my inner-goddess, and Christian's relentless refusal to respect my boundaries, I accepted a date with Bradley. I reasoned that it would help me keep a healthy distance from my former dominant—who too often used sex as a weapon. And, why not? I was single, technically. Christian had no claim over me—not anymore. Right? I mean, I never did sign the contract…

Unfortunately, Christian didn't see it that way.

Now, tonight, as I lie here in my black, lacy bra and thong, anticipating Christian's roped punishment, I'm laden with guilt. It seems my plan has failed. And now I've dragged an innocent billionaire into this madness.

I clench my stomach at the thought of Bradly riding home alone, no doubt wondering where I've gone off to after the party, why I didn't say goodbye, or go home with him. He's probably tried phoning. May even be worried by now.

Why do I hesitate to commit myself wholly to this guy who's so good to me? Bradly's courteous and kind and, though at times he seems…preoccupied (I'm assuming with business) and slightly impatient with things I can't fathom or presume to know, the norm has been that he remains ever the gentleman, however more down to earth than Mr. Grey.

Bradly's clearly the better man for me. He would never hit me, anyway. Why then do I hesitate? Why then, have I only agreed to marry him after months and months of coercing? Maybe Christian was right. Maybe I am made to be s submissive.

"Christian," I plead, wrenching myself from my own masochistic reverie. "We can't…" My inner goddess cartwheels across my chest, cheering me on. I feel stupid for following his instructions. I slide toward the edge of the bed. I need to find my clothes and scoot into them, and then out of here. But I can't. Christian's firm but gentle grip around my arm stops me.

"Shh…" he coaxes. "Don't worry about… _him_. Bradly won't be too hurt, _trust me_ …" With a finger, he guides my chin to face him.

I'm stunned. He truly is breathtaking. Tonight, he's clean-shaven, though his hair is as much of a mop as ever. He's already removed his shirt, and his slacks hang around his hips in _that way_. I'm all giddy inside, I can't stop gaping. Then, he runs the back of his fingers down my cheekbone, and his thumb across my lip, his gray eyes as soft as his touch.

"Truthfully, Ana." He sighs, his body visibly deflating. "I didn't think it'd come this far. I thought I'd have you out of his hands by now and back in my arms where you belong. Why do you fight it, Ana? Don't you know you belong to me?" His voice is gentle, caressing me into a deceptive comfort.

He's right. My heart at least belongs to him. Suddenly, his mercurial mood takes a turn. His eyes harden and his jaw clinches.

"Bradly's punishment is long overdue," he grates.

I say nothing. It's not the first time I've heard such idle threats. And Christian isn't the only one. They both make jabs at each other like this—only to me. I've never heard them badmouth each other in public. At first, I thought it was jealousy, but sometimes I get the feeling it goes deeper than that. Yet, I never see them argue or fight.

"Why do I find myself entertaining the thought of a blonde? What are you doing to me, Ana? You know how I feel about blondes …"

My chest plummets at the reminder. It's not something I want to think about. I felt Katrina's evil stare all night at the party.

Everyone in the world knows about my history with Christian Grey. Or, at least they know what Christian has let them know. What only those close to him know is that the entire ordeal devastated him, and that's not by his own admission. They can see it.

I'm the villain here. I left him. I've strung him along for the past two years. His mother, who used to be so kind to me, now greets me with hard, cold eyes. Mia won't look at me. And now I've gone and started dating Christian's partner, of all the single men in the city. In my defense, I didn't know Bradly and Christian were partners when we started dating! Christian was always so guarded; he shared nothing of his professional life. My subconscious rolls her eyes. She's right. It's no excuse.

It can't be comforting to Katrina to know I'm still in both his professional and personal life.

Just like it doesn't comfort me to imagine Christian Grey punishing another sub.

"What are you thinking?" his velvety voice cajoles me from my debilitating thought pattern. "Answer me now," he demands when I take too long. His thumb caresses my bottom lip.

"Your…girlfriend." I force the word from my mouth, ignoring the uninvited image of Christian's gray necktie knotted over Katrina's wrists. I shift uncomfortably in my near-nakedness. "Have you shown her the red room of pain yet?" I can't believe the words fly from my mouth, let alone the venom that spews out with them. I gasp at my own audacity. Who am I to talk? I was first to take refuge in another.

"Ana, it's mostly about pleasure, as I've said countless times." He sounds exasperated. But when he faces me, it seems he recognizes something in my expression, and there's a ghost of a smile curling the corner of his perfect lips. "No, I have not allowed her in there. That remains our little secret…"

"But—erm, hasn't she signed your contract?"

Another soft smile. "No," he admits. "No contract for her." But he looks away, his eyes bleak.

This is news… Has the dominant Christian Grey done away with the NDA? Does he no longer negotiate his recreational relationships?

I can't fight the pang this forces through in my stomach. It's all my fault. I drove Christian to date like a normal person.

"Ana. We haven't—" He stops short, his gray eyes storming. "Don't think about her… Or _him_." He scoffs, clenching his jaw. After a long moment of brooding, he finally says, "We'll save your punishment for another day." His eyes soften and he smooths a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

As relief swallows me, his finger tugs on my chin, twisting my head to nearly face him once more, and his lips touch mine, the tender graze of his tongue a gentle tease inside my lips. He withdraws, and I feel the loss. Then, his voice takes the sudden and dangerous tone of a business deal.

"Let's get the business out of the way. And get one thing very clear." His mercurial ways have brought his mood back to business. No emotion. It's all acquisitions and mergers as it has been in the past. Like I've already signed a contract that I can't get out of.

I say nothing, not daring to argue with Mr. Business, and wonder briefly if I'm doing the right thing. Of course, I'm not. I'll soon be the wife of another billionaire who, according to the people in this city, can do no wrong. If I mess it up with Bradly, I'll be the one the world hates, not him. _I told you to stay away from Mr. Grey!_ My subconscious riles at me… I suddenly feel squeamish. I need to get out of here…

"This is _my_ business," Christian's voice breaks in, bringing me back to the veracity of my situation. "Which means, if you go through with the marriage, you belong to me."

He's behind me now, nibbling at my ear and I may as well be in shackles. I can't move; I'm pinioned by his audacity.

"That's right, Anastasia Steele, you belong to me…" he whispers against the rim of my mouth, skimming his free palm over my hips, up my slim torso, and slipping it into my bra and around my left breast. It fills his hand completely and overflows a little. I flush with giddiness. I'm all light and airy inside. I feel him exhale his satisfaction as my nipple hardens into a berry under the brush of his thumb. His other hand unfastens my bra from behind, and it falls limp, causing my other breast to spill out.

"The thought of him touching you…" His body tenses. "You can't marry him. No, I won't allow it." He trails feather-soft kisses down my neck, pimpling my flesh throughout. Despite his threatening words, Christian is gentle with me.

My head falls back reflexively.

"Enough about Bradly."

His palm molds my breast as his lips continue their delicate sweeps of mine, softly, supplely. My lips tingle in response, and a wave of steamy warmth ripples through me. Then his lips begin their descent, burning a trail down my neckline until they're back at my nape, across my shoulder, and down the back of my arm.

"I'm going to fuck the submissive back into you," he promises. And I feel him pinch my hard nipple.

 _Oh my!_ I moisten myself! My breathing shallows. _Breathe, Ana, breathe!_ My inner goddess badgers me.

"But first, I need to know you want this."

My subconscious hangs her head. If we go through with this tonight, there's no going back...

 **Thanks for reading chapter 2. I'll do my best to post a new chapter at least once a week. If I'm not able to, I will let you know at the end of the chapter. If you like the story so far, please fav or review or share. Thanks so much!**

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	3. Chapter 3

Fifty Shades of Wrong – Chapter 3

Removing his hand from my breast, Christian balls fists of my brunette hair and tugs, cocking my head back onto his shoulder, and I find myself staring at the white timbered ceiling.

His erection is hard against my back, making me want to turn around and caress it. But I haven't forgotten: no touching.

His hands travel down my reeling body, tucking into my panties, where a finger slips between my folds and begin a circular tease. My heartbeat quickens, flooding my pulsing veins with warmth. And I can feel him breathe in my scent of powder and spice.

"I like that you're ready for me," he breathes. "I'm assuming that means yes, you want me, too. Here. Now."

I don't answer. I don't need to. Christian Grey knows me inside and out.

Pressure begins to build, and its warmth spreads up into my chest. He continues his controlled massage, coaxing the moisture from me. My hips begin to swivel by their own volition.

Abruptly, he stops and removes his fingers, leaving my body bereft, craving its captor – the one I know I can't be with, the one whose dark needs I can't fulfill. And yet I belong to him in the most basic sense of the term.

 _I_ would be the one in trouble if we were caught by my fiancé, not him. _I_ would be the one his girlfriend went after, if she were to walk in on our entwined bodies. _I_ would be the one the world hated…

Suddenly, my hands are lifted high above my head, and I feel something bristly circle my wrists. I feel the coarse texture of the rope tug at my flesh.

He drops his feet to the floor, walking around to the end of the bed, his imposing erection tenting his boxers—the boxers that hang on his hips in _that way_! I'm all giddy at the sight.

I don't move. I _can't_ move. I'm tied up…

I'm on my back at the top of the bed, propped by the metal headboard, rope digging into my wrists as I hang there. And my thong is soaked!

He slips from his boxers and they fall to the floor as his erection springs free.

From here, my eyes have no choice but to drink in the figure standing at the foot of the bed. The sharp definition of his torso and chest makes me want to skim my palms all over his taut flesh, from his firm, broad shoulders down to his tight, sun-bronzed bum.

His copper-color mop–hangs loosely at his temples, and his fierce, beastly, gray eyes burn into me. Tonight, they're darker than usual. He curls his lips into a devious half-smile, and I'm instantly reminded that he is forbidden. A chill snakes up my spine.

He's forbidden because of me. Because I found another. I push the reminder from my mind.

Christian's hungry gaze immobilizes me. He has the ferocious look of a beast readying to pounce his helpless prey. He pushes my legs apart and crawls onto the bed between them, scrunched down like a lion readying to pounce me.

His soft lips burn a trail up my inner legs. His hands are smooth as velvet inching up my legs as his lips find the apex of my thighs. It's drenched from his finger-fuck. There's a tug at my panties.

"Lift yourself," he orders.

The rope digs into me even more as pull myself up and he slides the panties down my legs. And then, his tongue finds my folds, lapping around my most sensitive part, before plunging into my gushing hole.

"Ohh, please," I plead, as his mouth explores me, _down there_! I feel his fingers join his tongue as my insides accepts the hard penetration. I'm lifted somewhere inside an erotic cloud as all the heat in the world collects in one, little spot! It's soaking wet, and steaming, its heaviness a torturing, sensual shell, ready to detonate at any, unforeseen moment.

"Please," I murmur, and I feel his smile at the apex of my sex.

"Patience, Miss Steele…" His voice is muffled. "I love the taste of you," he tells me, ignoring my plea. His lips and tongue continue their feathery massage as his fingers continue to fuck me. My back arches against my will and a groan escapes my lips.

"Tell me you want this," he orders softly.

"I want it," I murmur through my shallow breathing, my hands grasping for him. The rope burns my wrists in my feeble attempts to touch him.

Touching, too, is forbidden.

"That's a good girl." He continues, each second edging me closer to my pinnacle. Then he removes his lips from my sex and crawls over my naked body, dusting a line of soft pecks along the way, and pausing at my nipples.

"Can I trust you to do as you're told?"

I nod.

"Good. Keep your hands up." He loosens the rope, and I drop to the bed. Then, he brings his head level with mine and drops his elbows on either side of my me, pinning me to the bed, his smooth chest sweeping my tingling nipples as he closes me in. And in this brief reprieve, I lazily drag my fingertips down the sides of his sculpted trunk, looking up at him as those piercing eyes weigh in on me.

"Hands, Anastasia."

Oh, my! My inner goddess whimpers as I return my hands above my head. I grab the headboard and wait for his command.

He pauses his head at my entrance, teasing me.

My body wriggles with anticipation.

Then Christian Grey sinks into me.

"Mmm…" I murmur, relishing the fullness inside me, trying to do so quietly, knowing Katrina's sitting there on the other side of the wall, clueless to her boyfriend pleasuring another. Is it wrong to enjoy?

 _YES!_ my subconscious shouts at me.

I whisper his name, my voice raw and low, and he thrusts his hips hard, but slow. Firm, and controlled. I match his rhythm, gyrating my hips with his, and the pressure builds all over again…

"I want you back, Ana. To be available for me whenever I need you. I don't like sharing you…"

I say nothing. What's there to say? This is so wrong!

The truth is, he's not sharing me—not in this way. Bradly and I haven't done anything yet.

Christian lifts himself up so that he's above me, continuing his pumps. Then he takes my hands in his, his groin continuing the repetitions, forceful, powerful – pushing my body upward with each hard thrust. My hips respond reflexively, my back arching, and we're entangled in an erotic rhythm.

"You're mine to do with as I please! Say it," he orders softly.

"I'm yours," I pant between pumps. "…to do with as you please. Do what you want to me, Christian!"

There's relief in his breathing, and smugness in his expression as he looks down at me.

"Oh, sweet, soft girl…" he groans, panting, his measured plunges pushing me to my brink. And he thrusts his weight against my front. "Tell me what you want."

"I want…" I barely get it out between his pounding. How have I been so stupid to think I could leave him? "I want…to touch you."

He does not answer, but tenderly pecks me on the lips.

He pumps harder… harder, pounding me like the ruthless tycoon he is. There's a look of triumph in his eyes. A look I know well. His lips curl as he lowers himself to me once more, resting them at my pulsing neck as he continues… pumping, even more forceful, driving into me like an animal who's been deprived for too long.

I feel his force throughout my entire body. It's electric and raw. Then, without any warning, the boiling, wet pressure culminates into one tense moment...

"Come for me," he pants, pushing deep into me, holding himself there, his pelvis hard against my wall, grinding into me.

And I want it. I reel for it. He moves his grip from my wrists to my neck, where he clutches, airflow slowly dissipating. And my entire body stiffens. My heart shoots into my head and I'm floating, light and airy and… oh… so…

"Come for me!"

My body obeys on a long exhale, all that built-up, heated pressure erupting into one—cosmic—release… I call out his name on a groan, perhaps louder than I should have.

"My sweet Ana," he murmurs between breathes, and releases inside me on three hard thrusts.

He holds himself there, pulsing my throbbing walls, his body tremulous over me, and our breathing subsides.

Oh, how I've missed Christian. How long has it been? At least a year, since Bradly and I got together.

 _Cheater!_ My subconscious screams at me. She hangs her head in disappointment. My stomach sinks at the thought, just as we hear voices from the hall. It's Christian's assistant, Taylor. He's talking to someone.

"Sir, that's Mr. Grey's private quarters. If you kindly wait in the parlor, I will retrieve him."

"I'm not looking for Christian," Bradly's voice booms down the hall. It sounds…angry. "I know Ana's here. She didn't leave the party tonight."

 **Thanks for reading chapter 3. Again, I want to let you know that I will do my best to post once a week at the very least. So, it may sometimes be more than that. If I'm not able to make my once-a-week minimum quota, I will let you know at the end of the chapter. If you like the story so far, please let me know and fav or review or share. This is how I know you want me to keep writing. Thanks again! I appreciate you!**

4


	4. Chapter 4

Fifty Shades of Wrong – Chapter 4

I can hardly believe it. Christian and I have just fucked and now my fiancé, Bradly, is right outside the door looking for me.

My stomach is in my throat. My chest is in my bowels. I'm such a coward! How could I do this to a decent man as Bradly? He deserves better, he does.

"Wait here," Christian orders quietly.

I obey, my breathing subsiding as my heart continues to pound through my chest. My body's awash with shame. And my heart's sinking fast.

My subconscious berates my inner goddess.

Christian throws on his jeans—no boxers—and a t-shirt and rushes his fingers through his just-fucked hair. Then he exits the room, his hand on his lips in warning as he slips through the door.

"Bradly," I hear Christian beckon from the hall. His voice quickly dies. He must be in the great room now because I can't hear him anymore.

I wonder what he'll tell Bradly. I wonder what _I'll_ tell Bradly when I see him next…if he'll even see me after this…

I glance outside. The moon is an ominous orb of silver invading all the secrets of the Seattle skyline. With a hung head, I collect my clothes from the floor and dress myself, my subconscious rebuking me. _Loser. Coward. Cheater!_

She's right. I deserve neither of the men in my life. I pad across the room to the walk-in closet. It's ginormous, the size of my own bedroom in Kate's apartment. It's floor-to-ceiling shelving of clothes and compartments with every manner of shoes—women's shoes. Whose room is this? I look around.

All the clothes are female. I slip a skimpy blouse from a hanger and hold it up to my shoulders. It's my size. Is Katrina my size? She's slightly taller, but she may be built like me. Did Christian just fuck me in Katrina's room?

That's it. I can't do this. Not like this. I'm going to go out there and confess and break our engagement off. Bradly deserves to know. I won't be that girl who sneaks around. My subconscious disagrees. _Ha! You're already that girl!_ She shouts at me.

I turn around to leave and run right into Christian.

He's leaning against the closet doorframe. He's removed his shirt, and his pants hang around his hips— _in that way!_ My knees weaken.

"What have I told you about biting that lip of yours." He sweeps in and grazes his lips across mine, softly, tenderly, like a feather. His tremulous breath sends waves of electric shock to my pounding chest. Then he kisses me, pressing his lips into me, against me, and his tongue inside me, possessing my mouth ardently and claiming me for himself. His hands explore my body and my body responds reflexively. I'm heated all over again, taken prisoner by his passion. Then, abruptly, he withdraws, leaving my me reeling and bereft.

There's a ghost of a smile on his delicious lips. Like he knows what he's just done to me. "He's gone," he says, resting his hands on my arms.

It brings my attention back to the emergency at hand. Bradly!

Christian's eyes size me up, reading me. "Are you…okay?" He shakes his head, assessing my expression. "You're staying here tonight." It's not a question. Sometimes the dom never leaves the man.

I look up at him and shake my head. "Uh… I can't, Christian. Kate will worry. Bradly will worry—I have to go to him, tell him what I've done." I need to break it off with Bradly, I think to myself. It's not fair to him—to go on knowing how I still feel for this man standing in front of me.

Apparently, that's not what Christian was expecting to hear. His eyes nearly bug out of his head. "What _you've_ done? Ana, you've done nothing. Don't waste any guilt on him. He's no gentleman, I promise you that."

This isn't the first time he's slandered Bradly's name in this way. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Listen, Ana. You were just following orders, like a good sub. Bradly—he's…We've known each other for a long time. We were rivals for a long time…until he approached me on a joint venture. I've had to get to know him from both sides. He's into things you would never go for…"

I'm shaking my head as he speaks. He's told me all this before, and I always thought it was his jealousy and control talking. Now…it feels different. "No. It's no excuse for my behavior. And I'm not your sub anymore."

Christian's entire countenance shifts. His eyes darken and his body stiffens. He steps back. "Ana. You've gone far enough with this. It's time you come back. You know you belong to me. I've told you I don't like to share. Bradly, on the other hand…" He trails off, as though unsure if he should tell me something.

But that's not what I'm focused on. Christian's always been Mr. Bossy-Pants, but telling me I've gone far enough, that I belong to him—it's just down right audacity!

"No, Christian. I'm going." And I walk around him, and across the room.

"I'm not going to share anymore," he shouts after me. "You're making me want to bend you over my knee right now."

I stop and, still facing the door, open my mouth to speak. Then I close it, my inner goddess all riled up. How can his voice be so…velvety in the middle of an argument? I don't dare turn around. I continue out the door, not brave enough to look back. I don't know how long I can remain strong.

I storm down the hall into the great room, where Taylor is waiting like a butler.

I pause. The room looks silent as a picture in front of the Seattle backdrop. The floor-to-ceiling window shades are drawn to a breathtaking, panoramic view of the Seattle night skyline. Half the room is dimly lit; the other half, where the piano sits, is dark.

"Shall I bring your car around, Miss?" Taylor offers, his voice reminding me of my task at hand.

"No, thank you, Taylor. I'll grab a cab." I'm not taking the car Christian keeps trying to give back to me.

"Thought I'd find you here." The voice is female and nearly knocks me off balance.

I spin around to find a curvy silhouette emerging from the piano bench and walking into the dim glow. All I can think of is Mrs. Robinson, Christian's former Dom. But I realize quickly that I'm wrong.

I look over at Taylor, who looks just as shocked as I feel. Apparently, he didn't know there was anyone else in the room either.

Slowly, the light reveals my observer. Emerging first is her sleek and silky, blonde hair, then her bright blue eyes outlined in black, and cherry-red lips that look like they're designed for pleasuring. Then comes her tight, crimson dress outlining the curves of a Barbie. If her curves aren't enough, her gait certainly is. It's slow and drawling and coquettish. An invitation to fuck. I look over at Taylor, who has disappeared.

"Oh, hi Katrina," I squeak. I clear my throat. Why is she so intimidating all of a sudden?

"Anastasia Steele." She simpers salaciously, running a finger along my shoulder as she circles me, a lioness playing with her food. "Have you lost your way out? The party ended hours ago."

"I—erm, I—" I stammer, but no coherent words find my lips. I hold my chin up. "I'm just leaving."

Then Katrina leans in against my ear, so close I can feel her lips brush my skin. I shudder. "If you stay, I can make it worth your while…show you how to really pleasure Christian Grey. I know what he likes… It is what you want, isn't it? What his ultimate gratification would be…"

I doubt she knows what Christian Grey truly wants, especially if she hasn't been introduced to the red room of pain. But I don't get to voice my doubt because I'm interrupted halfway through my thought.

"Katrina!" Christian says, barreling into the room, Taylor in silent tow. He's still shirtless and barefoot, evidently unconcerned of the implications.

Suddenly, Katrina's not so confident. Her tall shoulders slump and her posture falters. "Yes, Sir," she mutters. "I was just—"

"In the room," he orders, cutting her off. "I'll deal with you in a minute."

And she obeys, skulking off down the hall, her hips a little less swagger.

I almost feel sorry for her. Christian Grey has that effect. He's different now, I notice. Colder. Less caring. And I'm reminded of where I'm going. I don't say anything to Christian, quite sure I won't stand a chance against his gray eyes. I storm out to the elevator, where I'm forced to wait several, agonizing seconds for the doors to open.

Christian's watching me. I can feel his eyes on me from behind. I don't dare turn around.

The doors open and I slip inside and press the lobby button.

"Anastasia," he says, as the doors begin to close. His eyes, still dark, dance like he's just won a prize.

"Christian," I answer, just as the elevator doors come together.

The exchange reminds me of another time, long ago, when we first met.

The elevator plummets and so does my heart. All I can think of is Katrina in the room that he ordered her to. Which room? The red room? No, he told me he hasn't taken her there. The white room—the one that used to be mine? Or the room in which he just fucked me?

I push out the image of him with the gorgeous, full-figured blonde. Or, I try to. But it keeps boomeranging back to the forefront of my mind.

I find myself oddly…turned _on_ by the thought. No, it can't be right. I'm just upset, that's all. I shake it off.

Finally, outside in the cool summer night, I find a quiet crevice of the building, slide my back down the wall, and sob. I don't know how long I'm there. Or who sees me. I don't care. I keep my head down, not wanting to face anyone. Until a pair of black Louboutins block my view of the gum-stained sidewalk.

I follow the frame up to see a very concerned Bradly Russel towering over me, his crisp, cool blue eyes gripping me in that way…

"Now, what can possibly have you upset enough to sit on the sidewalk in such a dress?"

I open my mouth to answer, but the words get stuck in my throat.

Bradly proffers a hand. Hesitantly, I accept, and I'm lifted to my feet. He wraps an arm around me and leads me to his limousine, which is waiting a few feet away, his driver holding the door open.

The ride to my apartment is quiet, but for Bradly accepting a call, agreeing to meet someone in an hour. Briefly, I wonder what business could drag him out so late on a Saturday night. It reminds me of Christian, when he had to leave me in Georgia to return for an emergency. I look at Bradly. I hope everything's okay.

"We'll talk tomorrow when you're feeling better," Bradly says as he walks me to my door. He's right. I can't talk right now. "I want you to get some rest and don't let Kate interrogate you."

I nod, relieved that he's not pressuring me for answers tonight. I need to be alone. I need answers of my own.

He presses a gentle kiss on my forehead and waits until I close the door.

Thank God Kate's not home yet. Her new job keeps her working late, even on Saturdays. I clamber into the apartment to my bedroom, leaving a trail of lights in my wake. I plop backward onto my bed, my mind racing over all the ways in which to break the news to Bradly. None of which succeed in distracting me from the thought of Christian and Katrina together right now.

As I lie here and regret ever ending it with Christian in the first place, all I can think of is Christian slowly unzipping Katrina's red dress. My plummets to my stomach. Why should I be jealous? We're not even supposed to be together. Then, her words return to me. _I can make it worth your while…show you how to really pleasure Christian Grey._ Just what was she getting at?

A familiar ding reaches my ears.

The laptop Christian gave me three years ago (and won't let me return) is opened on my nightstand. I sit up in my bed and pull it to my lap. Then I open the email:

From: Christian Grey

To: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Punishment

Ana,

Don't think I don't know who took you home. You walked away from me. You disobeyed me. I'm coming over to bend you over my knee.

Wait up for me.

Christian

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

 **Thanks again for reading. Let me know what you think, and of any mistakes I made so I can improve the story for you. Or, let me know which way you want the story to go. What kind of BDSM do you want Christian and Ana to do? Your opinion is most important. If you like it, please fav, review, and share.**

5


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for your feedback. I've heard you loud and clear and I appreciate your honest opinions. You're right about Ana. I hope this interlude chapter can at least start to redeem her…**

Christian's email makes me fume. I slam the laptop closed and thrust it off my lap. It bounces on the bed.

I stand up and pace my room. Where does Christian get off with his audacity? He used to be so caring and attentive. I mean, he was bossy, but he knew how to read me. Now he's…he seems… He's hurt, isn't he?

I'm reminded of something my mom once told me. _Hurting people hurt people._ By engaging with Bradly, I've hurt the man I truly care about. And now he wants to hurt me, not in the way he wanted to before, with floggers and belts, but in a different way. I don't even know if he means to. Maybe he just wants me back…

I fall backward onto the bed. The day I left Christian, the cruel things I said to him, and the lost look in his brooding, gray eyes. It was right after he gave me six lashings of the most excruciating pain I've ever felt. Tears streamed my face as I counted the blows and bit down the searing stings of each lash. I didn't ask him to stop, didn't shout out yellow, the safe word that could have ended the beating. I didn't look at him either.

It's the reason I left. I can't give him what he needs. And he can't give me what I want. It all comes down to compatibility. It's as true now as it was then…isn't it?

I know what I have to do now.

I sit bolt upright on my bed and pull my legs in, crisscross. I retrieve the computer, settle it on my lap and open it. I hit reply to Christian's email and begin typing:

From: Anastasia Steele

To: Christian Grey

Subject: Space

Dear Mr. Grey,

I'm sorry I've hurt you. But I can't do this. Not now. I need some space between us. Please respect my wish.

Ana

I hit send and set the laptop on my side table. I don't even want to know if he responds. If he shows up, I will not answer the door. I'm doing this for myself, for my inner goddess.

Sitting here is doing no good. I decide to take a shower to wash off the sticky from Christian and me, and all the confusion.

The shower's steamy and warm, and a welcome distraction. I could stay here all night. It takes me back to another time, in a hotel in Georgia, where Christian lathered me…in his caring and attentive way.

I shake off the reminder and dry off. I haven't seen any of that in the last three years. As I return to my room, which is right off the living room, I notice the clock on the wall has nearly hit midnight. Where's Kate, I wonder? I could use her advice right about now—now that my eyes have been washed of all evidence of crying. I think it's time to spill all…

But it'll have to wait. Even after I've showered, she's still not here. This is later than usual. I'm beginning to worry. _My_ _my_ , _how the tables have turned._

In my room, I slip into my button-up cotton pajamas and head into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

As the kettle's warming, I return to my room. It's a good night to read, I think to myself, since sleep will likely not find me. I rummage through my bookshelf for something I can sink into, another world where love has a happy ending…

I select a thick, black book, all worn and withered. On the cover, two hands cup a cherry-red apple. I tuck the book under my arm and settle onto the couch for a long distraction of vampires and romance.

Two words into the first page, I hear the front door lock rattle, then the door swinging open, followed by Kate tumbling through. As gorgeous and composed as she usually is, she looks bedraggled and giddy.

"Kate," I say, and help her inside.

"Oops," she utters, tripping over the threshold. "Sorry." She laughs.

She's alone. I close the door behind her.

"Did you get dropped off here?"

"Uh-huh," she says, nodding wildly like a toddler. "A co-worker threw a party tonight. I had to go." She shrugs. Her speech is surprisingly together for how off balance she is. "She's trying to set me up with a friend of hers. But, I dunno…" She sighs, looking around like a disappointed kid who's been told she can't play anymore. And I know who she's thinking of. "Anywho, he gave me a ride home."

"Um, let's get you some water," I suggest.

Kate hasn't been the same since she and Christian's brother broke up a year ago. Indeed, it was their relationship that first allowed Christian a reason to stay in my life. Since then, Kate's been less bubbly and more…busy.

I guess the latter comes with working. I mean, at some point we've got to start growing up. I certainly have my fair share of work at the publishing company, especially now that I've been promoted to head fiction editor.

I pour Kate a glass of ice water and we settle onto the couch. There's nothing but palpable quiet between us. After a while, I look over to find her head draped over the arm of the sofa, passed out. I cover her with a blanket from the back of the sofa and switch the lamp off. I head for my room just in time to hear the ding of the email.

Christian has responded.

I'm not surprised I can hear the chime since my door, which is adjacent to the sofa, is still open. I imagine him all riled up, his dark, gray eyes beading over the computer screen.

True to myself, I don't look. Even after the three email notifications following the first.

I'm about to pounce in there and slam the laptop closed so that he can't beckon me. But I don't make one step because a knock comes at the door.

Great, I think. Christian's emailing me from my front porch. He's decided not to respect our space. My insides boil. And, though I swore to myself I wouldn't answer, I can't help it. I'm too angry to ignore it. I storm over to the door and yank it open, ready to tear him a new one. But I can't. I stop, frozen, and feel the blood drain from my head.

Standing before me is a beautiful man.

"Ana," Bradly says, startled by my reception. "I—is this a bad time?"

I look at the clock. It's 1:30 in the morning, not a usual time for a visit from Bradly. I look at Kate, who hasn't budged since she passed out. I return my gaze to Bradly and brace myself, ready to face my fate. "It's perfect. Come in."

 **Thanks for reading this far. Let me know what you think. Fav, review, or share. Your opinions help me a lot.**

3


	6. Chapter 6

Fifty Shades of Wrong – Chapter 6

 **Hey there, I apologize for the delay. I struggled with this chapter, and I think you'll see why. Hope it's not too…** _ **disturbing**_ **…**

I swallow my anxiety as I lead Bradly through the living room to my bedroom. The apartment is so small, we can hear everything from everywhere, and I don't want to wake Kate, who's still passed out on the sofa. Mine is the only other room with a door, besides hers and the bathroom. So, I traipse across the living room, utterly surprised that he's turned up at my door at one o'clock in the morning. And on the same night that Christian and I had our affair, no less.

Bradly follows me into my bedroom.

I proffer a seat at the window, but he does not take it, preferring to stand against the door once he closes it. I feel his laser blues regarding me, scrutinizing.

"There's something you should know, Ana."

 _Oh_? I wonder. "What is it?"

He removes his coat and drapes it over a pile of laundry, which is draped over a pile of books on my desk.

"We're to be married…" he begins, trailing off to another place before coming to and continuing. "And I daresay we haven't done anything more than a kiss. Lovely though your kisses are," he adds quickly, his face draining of all blood. I need to know…are you attracted to me?"

I feel my jaw drop. The moment of truth has finally come. I must tell him. He deserves to know. "I—Bradly. Any woman would be lucky to have you…" Even as I say it, I know I'm not answering his question. He changes his tactic.

"I feel I've been…patient with you…" His tone is one of caution, his eyes never leaving me, ready to catch any response my face might betray, however imperceptible it might be. "I do realize you've gone through a lot with Christian. Far be it for me to stir up any painful memories. But, if we're to be married—"

"Bradly, wait," I interrupt, but he holds up a hand to silence me and continues as though I've said nothing, his eyes falling to half-mast, his tall, slender frame erecting to its full height.

"Ana. I need to know you're with me."

My lips part. I catch his fierce, blue gaze, and I hesitate. _Time to rip off the Band-Aid!_ My subconscious screams at me. I pull in a deep inhale. I look at my hands. The next part comes barreling off my lips faster than I have time to think it through. I'm not even sure he comprehends them. "I need more time to get over him."

Silence.

I don't dare look up. My fingers command all my attention. My chest is in my stomach. I've never had to break up with someone who didn't deserve getting dumped.

I chance a peek at his expression. It's infuriatingly enigmatic. He and Christian are probably in cahoots with their emotionless façades.

"I see…" In an instance, Bradly's entire countenance changes. His lids halfway close. His lips flatten into a line as thin as paper. He strolls around the bed to where I'm standing feeling quite naked and vulnerable in my pajamas. He pauses inches from me, his tranquil blues icing over. They're so cold they burn into my flesh like dry ice. A chill shudders through me.

He remains dangerously calm as he closes in on me, so close I'm forced to look up at him. He trails the back of his index finger down my cheek, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. Just like Christian would have.

"Anastasia," he utters, as though musing to himself, his icy blues darkening into a hurricane of fury. I can feel their burn. "How I wish you hadn't said that." He crushes my cheeks together so that my lips are forced to pucker. Then he plants his own lips on mine. Hard.

With the force of his tongue, he parts my lips and enters, infiltrating every square inch of my mouth, seizing me for himself. I don't struggle or fight him, accepting the full force of his anger. I know now he's not going to let me go easily.

"What're you doing?" I demand when he lets me go, the momentum staggering me back. I wipe my lips with my forearm.

"What? I can't kiss my own fiancé?"

"Bradly, I'm sorry—" I say, tears welling in my eyes. Clearly, I've hurt him.

"Shh…" his hands cup my jaws. He pulls me to him once more, this time tenderly and tremulously. He roughs his fingers through my hair, tugging my head back so that I'm obliged to look up at him. "Relax, Anastasia. Do you think I don't know about you and Christian? Oh, yes I do," he adds when I respond with an eye-widening gasp.

Bradly kisses me once more.

"See," he continues, his palm tracing my curves down to my waist. I've been there…through a painful breakup, I mean. I know what it's like to try to move on."

My heart solidifies into a ball of lead, weighing my chest down. My body feels weak, my legs wobbly. Is he saying what I think he's saying?

"I don't mind it in the least. If you want to fuck some other guy, all I ask is that I that I get an invite."

Nope. Not at all what I thought he was saying. My body responds before my mind. I can feel my lips curling in disgust, my feet staggering back, forcing me to buckle over as Bradly clasps my waist even tighter, pulling me against him.

"Seems only fair," he adds, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

"Um, what do you mean?" I ask stupidly. What madness is this! Surely there are a million other girls out there dying to get into his pants.

He purses his lips. "Anastasia. C'mon. You know what I mean. You've heard of cuckholding. I'm sure Christian's covered it in explaining all the sick and twisted things he's into. One thing I'll never do is hurt you the way he has."

My jaw drops to the floor. How in the heck does Bradly know about Christian's secret needs?

"I can't help but wonder—" He breaks his hold of me. Once again, I teeter back by the momentum. I balance myself as he turns and retreats to the end of my bed, where he paces alongside it, his pointer finger tapping at the air, and occasionally his chin. I'm reminded of a mad man plotting an evil plan. Then suddenly, with a sharp pivot, he's facing me again, closing in on me within a few paces, his smoldering eyes fervent, his entire countenance emblazoned with a passion I've never seen from him.

"I wonder, Ana, if you'd give me a chance, that maybe I could break the hold Christian has over you…I would worship you like no one ever has…and perhaps you'd like to see me…with another?"

There's nowhere left for my mouth to go. It's no longer simply hanging open, it has dropped off its hinge.

This is why you get to know a person before committing to a life with him. Although I've known Bradly for a year, I never would have guessed _this_! It makes me wonder what other secrets he might have?

Once more, my fiancé leans in to me to peck my lips, sweeping his over mine like a gentle lover. Heat rushes me. My knees are in danger of buckling as I realize how wrong this is. But, why is it wrong? He is my fiancé. _There's nothing wrong with kissing your fiancé_ , my inner goddess explains to my sub conscious. Why should I feel bad about it?

He breaks from me. "Look at me, Ana."

There's such command in his voice, I have no choice but to obey.

"I've stood by long enough. I've waited for you to come around… It's time, Ana."

I lower my head and play with my hands and squeak out a weak, "Sorry." Even after he's revealed his own twisted fetishes, I can't help the guilt welling in my chest. Who am I to judge a man by his fetishes? As Bradly said, Christian certainly has his own.

He lifts my chin to look at him. "I did not say you could look away." His voice is darker. His patience seems to have been crushed out of him.

What is it with all the eligible men in this town being so demanding and controlling?

"Bradly, I'm sorry. You're right. I should have told you long ago…I—I thought—I mean, I _wanted_ it to be you. I think it's best if we don't see each other anymore."

There, I said it! I feel a weight lifted from me. My inner goddess does backflips across my chest. Even my subconscious is proud of me. Until Bradly voices his answer, and reality comes crashing down with full force. Like the ceiling of a cave. I've nowhere to look. Nowhere to go.

"I'm going to let you think that through a little more, Ana. Did you hear what I said? I know you've been with Christian, and it's okay."

Yes, I heard what he said, but, "Are you serious?" Is he seriously expecting me to go along with this? Did he not just hear me break up with him?

"I won't explain cuckholding or cuckqueaning here…I'll let you go ahead and look it up when I'm gone. I'll say this: If my fiancé beds another, I think it's only fair that I have a front row seat. But if I discover you have done so without me, I will not be happy. I have my own ways of punishing, Miss Steele."

I am at an utter loss for words. I believe he's gone mad.

"Now," he says, evidently pleased by my silence, or whatever expression he sees on my face. I imagine it's quite ghostly at the moment. Is this why he hasn't pressured me all this time? Because he wants to see me with other men? Because he wants to be with other women, _while_ with me?

"I must be off," he says, wrenching me from my reverie. "I apologize I can't stay. I have another…engagement."

"At two in the morning?" my mouth blurts out before informing my brain.

He pauses to assess me, his icy blues warming into a twinkle, and a ghost of a smile tickles the corners of his lips. Is he… _turned on_?

He coils a lock of my unruly hair around my shoulder, smoothing his hand down my arm to my hand. I shiver.

"Why, Anastasia Steele! Are you implying what I think you're implying?"

"What?" I ask stupidly.

"Don't play coy with me. You think I'm going to see a girl tonight, don't you?" When I say nothing, he continues. "I'll leave it up to your imagination, then." And with that, Bradly turns around and disappears through the door, seeing himself out.

I let out a long current of breath that I didn't realize I was holding in. I'm going to need time to process this sudden turn of…character? I think back. Were there any signs? He's always been so gentlemanly. Has he been waiting for me to finally give in to Christian and sleep with him?

I shake my head. I can't answer that. Or any other question. Suddenly, I find myself thinking of Christian, how normal he seems now… It reminds me…

I pad over to my bed, plop down, and slide the computer onto my lap. I open it to find three responses to my last email.

To: Anastasia Steele

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Apology

I don't want to upset you. I hope you're okay.

Please let me know you're okay, and I will give you the space you need.

Christian

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

My heart melts, remembering the Christian I knew before. The one who was attentive and caring. I open the next email.

To: Anastasia Steele

From: Christian Grey

Subject: No reply

I'm waiting… And losing patience.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I shake my head, reminded of yet another shade of Grey. Some things never change. I open the next.

To: Anastasia Steele

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Tsk Tsk

You haven't answered me. You know I don't like to be ignored.

I'm coming over. And I'm bringing the flogger.

Wait up for me. That's an order.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

 **Thanks! Let me know what you think! Fav, review, and share. Your feedback helps so much.**


	7. Chapter 7

Fifty Shades of Wrong – Chapter 7

 **I received your comments and feedback and, again I appreciate every word you share. I hope this one gets you excited…**

I don't have time to be livid because the moment I set the laptop on the table, I find a tall, irate Mr. Grey towering over me, silent and malicious as a vampire.

I'd just finished reading his email—the one that said he's coming over and that he's bringing his flogger. I scoot to the edge of the bed when I see him. I look at his hands tucked casually into his denim pockets—oh how they hang around his waist so deliciously!—but I see no flogger. I look around to see if he set it anywhere.

Nothing.

"I thought you wanted to punish me…" I keep my voice as sweet as possible.

"Believe me, Miss Steele, I most certainly will punish you tonight." He tilts his head, reading me. The next time he speaks, his voice is softer. "I thought you might first need more of a…confidante."

Oh?

He trails his finger down my temple, to my cheek, and across my lips, feather-light as a kiss. Sparks fly within me, so different than when Bradly made the gesture merely moments ago. It occurs to me that he could have seen Christian on his way out. He must have just missed him. Certainly, he would have turned around and come right back in here if he had? I wonder how Kate can sleep on the couch through all this traffic. She must be out cold.

I don't fight Christian this time. I lean into his touch, allowing my lids to close around my vision. And all I can do is feel him.

"What happened?" Christian's voice is a warm velvet ribbon draped around my hearing.

I look up at him, my chin resting on his navel. I feel his hand on my head, caressing my hair, coiling it down my back as he gazes at me. Then his eyes harden.

"Answer me, Anastasia," he orders, a little less patient than a moment ago.

I shrug, too tired of the whole mess to give it any more energy.

He lowers himself to his knees and scuttles between my legs. Resting his head on my chest, he's not looking at me when he says, "It's Bradly, isn't it?"

My whole body sighs. "I'd hoped you wouldn't ask."

He looks up and studies me for a long, pregnant moment. And I'm thrown back to minutes ago, when Bradly was here laying down his own law. His words ring loud and clear in my mind: _If my fiancé beds another, I think it's only fair that I have a front row seat. But if I discover you have done so without me, I will not be happy. I have my own ways of punishing, Miss Steele._

Christian breaks through the awful memory. "Very well. What shall we discuss?"

I think a moment. Then I say the thing I've been avoiding for three years. "Us…?"

Christian arches a brow. Upon further study of my countenance, his enigmatic face changes drastically and I can see exactly what he's thinking. Though his lips don't show it, his eyes smile. But it doesn't last long as he turns his attention to the confusion that must be broadcasted across my crinkled forehead.

"I know what you need," he coaxes. "I will require your consent."

I know exactly what he means. I remember all too clearly his NDA contract, and all the tedious stipulations. He wants me to consent to his punishment—to BDSM play. I don't need to think about it. He's right. It is exactly what I need in this moment.

I steel myself, erecting my spine in confidence. Probably feeling my shift, he looks up at me from between my legs as I look down at him.

"I give you my consent."

His eyes dance into a thousand sparkles, his lips stretching into a wide, breathtaking smile.

He gets up and sits next to me on the bed. Wrapping his fingers around my nape, he pulls me to his kiss. Softly, his tongue twirls with mine, each in an erotic salsa, both juicy and spicy.

When he withdraws, he looks down at me. "You found out about Bradly's habits, haven't you?" He's not asking, not really. I wonder what else Christian knows about Bradly. Probably a lot, considering their long history together.

I don't answer. And it seems he knows why.

"He's a swinger," Christian further clarifies. "He has been as long as I've known him."

My jaw hits the floor. That, I wasn't expecting. I mirror Christian's headshake, utterly baffled. How could I have gone all this time not knowing something like _that_ about my own fiancé? I feel stupid.

Christian takes my chin in his index finger, lifting it to a position of dignity. "It's not your fault. How could you have known what to look for if you've never been exposed to it?"

It's not his words that make me feel better, for they only imply that there were signs to look for. But the clarity in his gray orbs is all the confirmation I need.

"What will it take for you to come back?" he asks me.

"I told you," I answer. "It hasn't changed. I want more…"

"More than the contract, I know. Anastasia. We've had more. That's not it…"

I pause, readying myself for what I've been afraid to say for three years. What can it hurt to tell him now? It's not like I can lose him. I've already lost him. "I want you to…get over your need."

He wrenches his head back, his face contorting in utter confusion.

"Christian…this need you have... It's not…healthy." I mean BDSM play is harmless—I think. But what he did to me in the red room…that had to be torture! _What does that say for me, then_ , my subconscious asks? To desire someone whose own desire is to inflict unbearable pain on me?

His response is yet another shade of his many shades of Grey…

His eyes hood over, darkening into storm clouds, smoldering and riling and way too turbulent to fly through. Abruptly, he's on his feet, grasping frustrated pulls at his sandy tufts. Gone is the loving, caring, understanding countenance he's held these few precious minutes. His eyes are so cold, my insides chill several degrees. They're accusatory. As if it's my fault he wants to…hurt me.

I've made him angry.

"I'm not angry," he whispers in a voice much softer than his voice warrants, answering my fear that's probably plastered all over my face. "I don't want to hurt you. I only want to pleasure you with pain."

I feel his glare burning into me. I look down at my hands—at how sadistic that sounds…

"Don't bite your lip like that," he orders, reminding me of his unyielding need to dominate. "Or I will have to bite it for you…" With his thumb, he wipes my lip from my bite.

I didn't know I was doing it! Looking up at him, I wonder what's really going through his head.

Without warning, his lips attack mine. His tongue invades my mouth. It's strong and demanding, and ardently reclaiming its territory. It pushes mine around. I feel his hands inch up my curves and around my back, just as his teeth clamp over my bottom lip. He balls a fist of my hair, dragging my head from his face, my bottom lip easing from his sensuous bite.

"You know what I'm going to do to you tonight?" he breathes.

"What?" I mumble incoherently as I'm forced by his grip on my hair to look up at those penetrating, gray eyes.

"I'm going to remind you of your submission to me. You're going to get your flogging. And then I'm going to take you—however I please."

A shudder ripples through me and I think I'm turned on—by his threat alone! The tip of my sex tingles with excitement.

"It's time you stop fighting it," he continues. "You belong to me." He shoves me onto my back, towering over me and undoing his jeans as he speaks. Slowly, deliberately, walking with his knees, he eases onto the bed after me, crawling over me, unbuttoning my pajama top as he sweeps soft pecks up my stomach…between my breasts…across my clavicle. My head falls back reflexively. His tongue trails up my neck to my earlobe, where he nibbles softly. His groin presses into me and I'm reminded of the clothes restricting us from each other.

"I will no longer stand to see you _pretend_ to love someone else," he breathes into my ear. "Tonight, you're going to learn your lesson once and for all. Tonight, you're going to submit to me."

My insides are all of a dither. I flush hot with anticipation. He still wants me. After all this? After Bradly? After Katrina? _Katrina!_

"What about Katrina?" I blurt out before my brain can muster something more diplomatic and less accusatory to throw at him.

He halts in his track to kiss my lips, leaving my jawline bereft and wanton for his touch. My shallow breathing stops.

He's hovering over me, propped by his elbows, his perfect brows knitting together. "Don't ask me about that woman. I don't want to think of her when I'm with you."

He gets up off the bed and now my body is bereft, too.

"Come here."

I obey, accepting his proffered hand.

He pulls me to my feet, where he continues to remove my unbuttoned top, casually brushing his hands up my sides and skims the shirt over my shoulders. The top falls to the floor. Then he smooths my pajama pants down, lowering himself until he's level with my apex, brushing his nose across my mound, probably checking if I'm ready.

I feel a tug at my panties, lightly at first, then with more strength, they're ripped down my legs. My knees buckle from the sheer force, landing me on the bed, sprawled out and open for him.

His hungry eyes rove my naked body like a beast who's spotted its next meal.

"You remember your submissive position?" He asks as he draws me to my feet once more.

I look at my hands. "On my knees. Hands on my thighs. Head down."

"Good girl. I'm going to get a drink of water. When I return, I want you in your position, right in front of your mirror. You're going to watch me flog you. But you will not look in the mirror until I give you my permission."

An icy chill tremors through my chest. I swallow at the discomfort. "But you didn't bring your flogger," I object. Although something in my stomach says there's more here than meets my eye.

He smiles darkly. Then, as if putting on a show, he reaches around the end of my bed and retrieves a folded, black, leather rollup bag and unrolls it onto the bed like a magician.

Pockets and straps line the rollup. Some restraints are empty. Within several however, there are different styles of floggers, each a different size. And a couple of other tools with buckles and such that I don't recognize. I'm sure the terror reaches my eyes as I stand naked before my dominant.

"I've brought three of my finest floggers from which you may select."

"You want me to choose?"

"Yes, Ana. It must be one of your choosing."

"But I don't know the differences," I counter.

Christian removes the one I assume to be the most menacing one. It's the largest. Everything about it is large: The hilt and two knots, one on either end. The tails. Even the diamonds braided into the handle are wide and distinct. Even the tail-things, which are too many to count, are thick and flow from the hilt like a horse's tail.

"This one is made of a fine quality leather," he explains, proudly pulling the tails through his semi-closed hand and presenting it to me. "These are the falls. You will be hit with the ends." He pinches a couple of inches of the ends.

I fondle them. They're smooth and supple. He's right, they are a fine quality.

"Generally speaking, the bigger and more flexible, the more of a thudding sensation you will receive. No sting or searing pain. This one…" He sets the large one down and retrieves the smallest flogger from its buckled holster. "This one'll give you a bit of a sting—not too much, though…"

I run my fingers along the falls. They're slightly stiffer and much thinner than the previous. I don't think they're made of leather. They must be nylon or something. The handle is made of wood. He lays it next to the large one, and retrieves the medium-sized flogger.

The hilt, like the larger one, is knotted at each end. It's braded in diamond patterns like a snake's back. Unlike the previous two, this one spouts only four falls. Each one is braided, rendering it inflexible and stiff, like four whips attached to the same hilt. Near the edges of the tails, are some sort of lumps embedded into the braids;p;lpo.

Christian balances it on his two fingers at one end of the hilt. With his other hand, he holds the ends of the four falls up for display. "The lumps you see are weights—for intensity. Strikes from this one will sting. And likely break skin."

 _Break skin_? Is he kidding me right now? I shudder. Does he think me a masochist?

I'm reminded of the day I left him, after he'd whipped me in his red room of pain. It must reflect in my face because Christian's countenance changes drastically.

"This one is not for you. I brought it merely for effect," he confesses, pulling me into a cradle. "Obviously, it's too much." He tucks it away and rolls the bag's flap over it so that it is out of sight.

I withdraw. "It's okay. I can handle it."

But Christian's shaking his head. He points to the two laying on my bed. "You may choose from these two."

I lift the large one. It's heavy. I comb my fingers through the supple falls. Despite what he said, it looks like it could do some damage, if its operator so intended it. Even if he didn't, it looks like it would be too difficult to control. What if it wraps around and hits me in the face? It seems like it'd be impossible to aim, with its long and unruly tresses.

"I've had a lot of practice," he explains, probably at my trembling.

He takes the flogger from my hand.

"Now," he says. "I'm going to step out of the room for my water. When I return, I want to see you in the subscribed position at the mirror waiting for me like a good submissive."

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	8. Chapter 8

Fifty Shades of Wrong – Chapter 8

Christian walks out of my room in his boxers, closing the door behind him. I'm inwardly thankful that Kate is knocked out cold on the sofa. Waking up to a half-naked Christian would not be a good thing.

I know I shouldn't obey him. I should turn around and kick him out of here right now. But I can't. I'm hopelessly glutton for his punishment.

My sex vibrates at the very thought of it.

I try to force out all thoughts of Bradly, who must've just missed Christian on his way out. I still can't believe he didn't see Christian coming in. Perhaps my fiancé accepted my breaking up with him. Could he have decided to move on?

I get into my sanctioned position—in front of the mirror, on my knees, hands on my thighs. I'm completely naked, my nipples hardening into raspberries at the cool air. I lower my head and wait for my dominant.

And I wait.

I look at myself in the mirror, my breath fogging it before me. I'm too close. I scoot my knees back. Now I'm down right cold. My milky skin goosepimples all over. Why is it so chilly in here all of a sudden? Yes, it was cool in here moments ago, but at least it was comfortable.

I count my breaths, willing myself to be strong. On the tenth, I hear the door click open. Quickly, I lower my head as he instructed, just as the lights go out, darkening every corner of the room but for the dim pool from the lamp on my bedside table. The sound of the click of the door closing and soft footfalls crossing my bedroom carpet reach my ears.

"I apologize for the wait," he says, setting his glass on my nightstand under the solitary lamp. Though my vision is pointed down, I hear his every movement. I keep my head down, per his orders: _You're going to watch me flog you. But you will not look in the mirror until I give you my permission._

"I couldn't find your thermostat," he informs me.

Reflexively, my eyes flit up to his reflection only to find him staring right back at me. The look on his face is one of greed… For he just caught me disobeying. I try to play it off.

"Did you turn the air up?" I ask, preying to the mother planet that he takes the distraction.

"I turned it down," he corrects, his eyes falling to half-mast. He's standing behind me, his arms at his side, his boxers hanging on those hips, in that way! I try to fight the salivation in my mouth. But he's too…delicious. I want to rip off his boxers with my teeth and devour him! "You do not get the luxury of warmth right now, Miss Steele. I'm quite fatigued with you."

I look down at my fingers.

Then his voice comes at my ear, soft as a velvet pillow. "And don't think I didn't notice your disobedience. You looked up. That'll be an extra lashing."

My shoulders slump.

"But, if you're a good girl through it, I might let it slip."

I can't help but smile.

He's quiet for a while and I start to shiver. After a few moments of riffling through whatever he's rummaging through, he finally comes to me.

"Open your mouth," he orders.

I do as I'm told. Immediately, my mouth is filled with a black leather harness of some sort, with two O rings on each end. It's one of the other tools I saw in his rollup satchel when he showed me the floggers. I'm still amazed that he let me choose his weapon. Is he relinquishing some of his power to me?

"Bite down," he orders.

I bite the leather bit as he buckles it around the back of my head and he answers the unspoken question in my expression.

"This is a gag. It's to keep you quiet. We wouldn't want to wake Kate, would we?"

I shake my head, not bothering to try to talk through the bit.

"Now, you may look."

I find his reflection in the mirror. He's standing behind me, still in his boxers, holding the large flogger in his right hand, twirling it with the circular motions of his wrist. His eyes are alight with power as they ramble over my body, enjoying the journey. They find my eyes in the mirror, and his tongue grazes his bottom lip. He holds my gaze in his when he speaks.

"Ana. I am going to give you three floggings. One for each year you have defied me. If you're good with those, then I won't give you the fourth one you've earned tonight. Understand?"

I nod at his reflection.

"You remember your safe word?"

I nod once more, though I don't know how I would say it with my mouth gagged.

"If you need to use your safe word, tap on the mirror three consecutive times. Show me now."

I do as he says, giving the mirror three, solid taps with my fingers.

"Good girl. If you do that, I will stop. I promise." He circles the flogger, the falls swishing in a precise, circular motion, his eyes catching mine once more. "When I'm done, I'm going to take you from behind to let you know you belong to me. Understand?"

I nod, my clitoris tingling at his promise. My chest pounds so loud I'm afraid he might hear it and assign another flogging for punishment.

"This shouldn't hurt, Anastasia…not too bad. Look at me," he orders.

I find his reflection in the mirror again. His lips curl in a devious grin.

"I'm going to strike your upper back on the right side," he calls, just as one would call a pocket when playing pool.

He lifts his arms above his head, in what looks like a proper, skilled position. Then, he swings swiftly and pulls back. The falls hit altogether, exactly where he said. I hear the thud before I feel it. Though it's hard, I'm immediately relieved by the semi-mild sensation.

The next one is more intense, causing my body to jerk forward. My teeth dig into the bit in my mouth.

Christian pauses, concern knitting his brows, his eyes as intense as the blow to my back. "Are you okay?"

I give him a nod. I can do this.

"One more," he warns. "This one might have a little bite to it."

A _little bite_? That last one had a little bite.

He performs the motion once more, with his regular precision. This time the swing is swifter and he pulls back quicker, like he would a whip.

The blow wrenches my body forward, the sensation a thudding burn, thick and hard.

I want to shout out, but I bite the leather gag instead. I'm not cut out for pain. I breathe.

Still, there's a pleasurable feeling building within. I'm heated and wanton inside. Is it possible I want him even more now?

Christian swathes me from behind, his lips tracing my neck and up my jawline. I don't move.

He removes the gag and turns my chin toward him with his slender finger.

"How are you?"

I look up at him, searching his brooding, gray eyes. He looks…pained. Did that even give him any pleasure? He doesn't look it, not now that he's done. Was it not enough? Does he still need to further hurt me? I'm going to heal him of this, I vow to myself, if it's the last thing I do. It's what you do for those you love. It's what I should have done long ago, instead of abandoning him.

"I'm fine," I answer.

"Good." He stands and steps a few paces back to my bed. It's far enough that I can't see him unless I turn around completely. And Christian hasn't given me permission to get up, so I catch his reflection in the mirror.

His eyes harden and he points to the bed, beckoning me to it. When I obey, he says, "I'm going to take you from behind. Why am I going to take you, Anastasia?"

"Because I'm yours," I answer, somewhat eagerly.

"Correct. And why else?"

I think, stretching to my mind to remember what he said before the flogging. That's all I remember.

"This is a punishment fuck, Anastasia. You don't get to come unless I permit you to. And I won't do that until you admit that you belong to me. Understand?"

I nod, not daring to speak.

"What was that?" he prompts.

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl." He strokes my hair, coiling it around my front, and trailing his hands down my back. "You are…beautiful…" he mutters.

My eyes are drawn to his enormous package bound in his boxers.

"Why don't you relax a little?" He kneads the nape of my neck, then my shoulders, carefully avoiding the tender areas of my upper back. My whole body exhales, my forehead resting on his chin. "This will be a pleasurable experience, Anastasia. There's no need to be nervous."

He pulls back to look at me.

"You're biting your lip, Anastasia. You know how that drives me crazy." He clenches his jaw, and then attacks my lips, easing inside me until our tongues are tangled in an erotic dance and my chest is souring somewhere high above Seattle right now. My voice lets out a soft moan against his thorough exploration.

He withdraws from my lips, caressing my jawline with a line of soft kisses, trailing the back of his forefinger to my chin, where he tucks it under and pulls my lips to his once more. Instantly, his tongue seizes my mouth, this time more ardently, roiling with mine, reclaiming me.

My body melts in his embrace.

"Suck me," he orders, returning to my lips.

"I can't have enough of you," he moans. "You're so…delicious. My own personal flavor." He squeezes gently, inhaling, as if to savor the suppleness of my breast.

I smile, my head falling back as he fondles me.

He lets go and I feel my breasts fall heavily. And he molds them, skimming his cupping palms around their entire circumferences, his touch as tender as silk around my supple firmness.

He reaches around to my bottom and lifts me onto the bed, burying his face in my chest as he drops to his knees between my legs. And all I can do is grasp at the sandy tuffs on his head and wrap my legs around his narrow waist. Oh, how I want him inside me!

He kisses and laps his tongue at my nipple, hardening them into firm berries. Sweet tingling sensations ripple throughout my body, shortening my breath.

He withdraws from my chest and gazes at me for a moment or two.

Then, he plants his hands on my legs, smoothing up my inner-thighs, spreading them on the duvet.

"It is a lovely sight," he muses.

He brushes a thumb over my slit, and sinks two fingers into my entrance.

He pulls back to take my gaze in his. "I'll never get enough of your readiness, Miss Steele."

I enjoy the delight sparkling his eyes as they roll back momentarily before resting on me once more.

"It's the way you touch me," I explain breathily.

He tugs me from the bed, landing my feet on the floor. And then he walks me backward to my desk.

"Turn around and bend over," he commands, tapping the desktop for instruction.

I do as I'm bid, my insides all aflutter. He pushes me down firmly on the hard surface. I'm glad it's a large enough desk. My upper half fits perfectly across it.

I feel his hands on my bottom, molding and massaging, and I imagine his hungry gaze and the curl of his perfectly crooked lips.

I hear the ruffling and drop of his boxers from behind. In no time, his head is at my entrance, and he enters me, stretching me to accommodate his massive thickness.

I'm thrust forward at the force.

He pulls out, pausing his head to my opening. And then dives in a second time, this time deeper, more forcefully.

My body bucks, weakened by his sheer power.

Slowly, tortuously, he eases out of me.

And he plunges in once more, hard and swift. And he stays there, holding me captive with his exquisite fullness. I'm brimming with lust for this man! Yet he denies me! No movement, but his throbbing penis encased by my obliging walls. My muscles contract around his, grasping onto him, begging for his mercy.

I feel his caress along my bare bottom cheeks. So smooth and tender, a stark contrast to the assault on my sex. His hands skim around to my front side. His fingers find the folds around my clitoris, separating them. He eases a finger on either side of my clit, tenderly, softly, torturously slow and tantalizing.

At my murmur, he warns me. "Don't get too excited. I'm just moistening my fingers with your delicious juices. You still haven't confessed..."

Of course, I haven't. Not until he bids me to speak. I won't give him any reason for another punishment. This is torture enough!

At least for a moment longer, he works my supple skin, applying a light, teasing, pressure to my most sensitive part. "Mmm…I love how wet you get for me…" And I'm reminded that he's still inside me, unmoving.

It's over all too soon.

He removes his hand from my mound, allowing the cool air to tickle it. Then, I feel something I was not expecting.

Softly, he brushes over my _back_ entrance, giving it a slight knead, moistening it with my own juices, rubbing his finger around my rim, working it loose, and inciting from within me sensations I didn't know existed. An involuntary murmur escapes my lips.

And then his finger dips into my back door.

 _Oh my! This is new!_ It's so…tight. I feel my tightness around its invader.

"Are you okay?" he asks tentatively.

"Yes," I breathe, relishing the double fullness. My walls throb in undeniable pleasure.

"How do you like it?"

"I like it. Don't stop. Please."

"I won't," he promises, wriggling his finger deeper into my back entrance. I'm tight around him, pinching his extremity.

Suddenly, without warning, he removes his penis from me and plunges in once more on a groan, his finger still in my ass, pumping, digging incrementally deeper and deeper with each pulse.

"Mmm…" I murmur once again, stretching my arms to grasp the edge of the desk.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" It's not a question. "Say it."

"Yes," I breathe. "Fuck me, please."

"I like hearing you say that," he confesses.

As if to reward me, he reaches his free hand around and palms my front, where he begins a torturing massage, inciting salacious groans and wriggles from me. Then I feel him plunge deeper into my back entrance. It's quick, adding a pleasurable pressure to my sex that's still filled with his meat.

"Go with it," he whispers, leaning over my back to reach my ear.

He pounds me harder, my body bucking over the tabletop. In my back door, he's gentler, easing into me with tiny pulses while his other hand continues its torturous massage at my clitoris, circling, molding, wetting my entire frontside with his erotic assault.

How is he so coordinated to move all these parts at once?

I'm in sensory overload. I'm pushed to my brink. I can't breathe fast enough. I can't contain my impending orgasm.

My body is in full pleasure mode. There are so many sensations—the stinging burn, the sweet frontal torture, the heaviness collecting pressure from my epicenter. It's a bomb ready to detonate on command—before his command. I won't be able to hold it.

He knows this.

"Wait for it, Ana. Savor the sensations…" And like that, he withdraws. _Everything_!

My body writhes. It's utter sexual torture! I'm sullen and bereft, reeling from withdrawals.

"Ah-ah," he reminds me. "Not until you admit the truth, Anastasia. Tell me what I want to hear."

Of course, I'll admit it. I've already decided. I belong to this troubled man. I won't abandon him again. I want him to be happy. I want to help him with his…needs.

"I'm yours," I promise. "I'm yours, Mr. Grey! I belong to you. I'll never leave you again!"

Christian pauses, caressing my hair tenderly. "Me, too," he admits, and I hear a distinct catch in his throat.

Then, as if waking from a stupor, he grasps my waist and drives me down his length, deep. And his pumps begin, rebuilding the tension with sweet, swift friction, taking me as he pleases... Pressure reaches its boiling point and I must seek release.

Just at that moment, his hand returns to my mound, sending me to my pinnacle. I'm done for.

"I can't wait—I'm coming!" I shout. "I'm coming!"

"It's okay, baby. Come for me." He slams me down his length, packing his meat firmly within – thrusting. Thrusting. Harder. Faster. Faster. So fast, oh all the pent-up buildup… oh…ohumm... And—then— my toes curl. My entire body tenses. And…glorious…release comes gushing from me.

He finds his own release on two more thrusts, his body trembling over my backside, as he ejaculates inside me, flooding my cavity with his essence. On a long groan, he collapses onto my back.

For a moment or two, neither of us move. It takes a good long moment for our bodies to unwind and our breathing to subside. I'm squashed between him and the hard bureau surface. I contract my throbbing walls around him, giving him an internal hug. I can feel his heartbeat down there.

He peels himself off me, then helps me to my feet, although I don't know if I can manage. I'm utterly spent. My legs are rubber. Apparently, he can tell because he scoops me into his arms and carries me to the bed.

As my head hits the pillow, we hear three loud claps.

"Brava! Brava!" The voice comes from a dark corner. It sends a chill down my spine, for I know the voice well. And I notice for the first time since Christian returned to the room that the door is open. Even though Christian had closed it.

I look up at naked, panting Christian hovering over me protectively, his eyes hooded and fixed on our intruder.

"Bradly," he grates, a low guttural growl emanating from his throat. "What are you doing here?"

Evidently, he did see Christian on his way out.

 **Thanks again for reading! Please let me know if I took it too far, or if I should keep going. Your feedback helps tremendously. Let me know by favoriting, reviewing, or sharing. Thanks again. I appreciate you!**


	9. Chapter 9

Fifty Shades of Wrong – Ch 9

 **Hey there. I apologize for the delay. I'll post the next chapter soon. I will do my best to get it to you within a week, but I can't promise this time. This chapter is a quickie. Enjoy ;)**

Christian flings the duvet over my naked body and feverishly stomps into his boxers, and then his pants. His glare does not move from the dark figure in the corner. How long was Bradly watching us? Did he see _everything_? The flogging? Christian taking me from behind?

Humiliation washes over me and pins me to the bed. I bury my head in the covers. How could I have let this happen?

I can only see Bradly's silhouette in the dim light. Although I'm sure he can see everything as Christian and I are right under the small pool of light from my bedside lamp. I'm still baffled that Bradly even managed to sneak in here undetected in the first place. Although it was dark from Christian turning the lights out. My little bedside lamp can only light so much space. And Christian and I were too lost in each other to notice we weren't alone.

I look at the clock. It's two thirty in the morning. Yet, I'm too floored by Bradly's intrusion to be tired; however, I am thankful that it's Saturday night. It means I don't have to work tomorrow, and I can spend the day recovering from my humiliation.

"You're a sick bastard!" Christian rebukes Bradly as he shoves into his shirt.

I've never seen Christian like this. I never would have thought anything could knock him off his balance.

"Says the one who gets off on beating the woman he loves. Aren't you one to talk." Bradly rises from the chair. "Besides, you're the one having an affair with _my_ fiancé. Don't you think I have more of a right to be here than you do? If anything, I should be kicking you out."

Our observer walks toward the door. Oh good—I sigh in relief—he's leaving. Christian and I can figure out what to do in privacy. But too quickly, I find out I'm wrong.

Bradly stops at the door and flips on the light switch, exposing every corner of the room.

My entire body heats with humiliation all over again. I clench the duvet up to my neck.

"You will regret this," Christian promises. "She does not belong to you—she never has!"

"Like I told Ana. If anyone's going to bed her, I will get a front row seat. And I have, so thank you." He bows at us, waving his cell phone. "It was a…stimulating show."

"GET OUT!" Christian, giving up on his shirt buttons, advances on Bradly, who steps back, his hands up in surrender.

"Say no more, my friend. I'm leaving." Then he flicks me a quick look, and a dark wink. "See you later," he promises, and he's out the door before Christian can land a hand on him.

But Christian doesn't hesitate. He follows Bradly, who's now running through the apartment.

I fling the cover off me, my heart pounding, and fly into my clothes, locating them piece by piece, strung about here and there. When I turn around, I find Kate standing in the doorway, half awake and wrapped in the blanket I covered her with.

"What's going on? I just saw two men fly through the house. Was that…Christian…chasing…Bradly?" she seems to be working it out as she says it.

"It's a long story. I'll tell you later," I say hurriedly, shrugging into my pajama top and buttoning it up as fast as I can. I race through the apartment, down the steps and out the building's entrance. I'm too late.

Bradly's gone and Christian's on the curb ripping at his hair.

"Did he get a video?" he demands when he sees me.

I shrug that I don't know, the very possibility of it anchoring my stomach in my bowels.

"I'll find out." Christian takes my hand in his and we return to the apartment. "Then, I'm going to ruin him. You'll never be bothered by him again."

By the time we return to the apartment, Kate has already retired to her bedroom. Neither Christian nor I can sleep, try as we might. Finally, at about four-thirty in the morning, Christian excuses himself to go take care of whatever plot he'd spent the last two hours conjuring.

I don't ask.

Finally, as dawn slivers through the slits in my blinds, I fall into a restless sleep that takes me through to the afternoon, when I finally spill all to Kate over wine and cheese in the kitchen.

She listens, though she's somewhat pensive. She truly hasn't been the same since she and Elliot broke it off—for what reason, I don't even remember.

I don't hear from Christian all day. That's probably a good thing, however, it does make me worry.

I call it a night earlier than usual and Monday's here way too early. I bolt out of bed, then sag when I remember the humiliating events of the weekend. And I enter the office with a fair amount of paranoia, skulking past my boss's office. Why are people looking at me? Has Bradly said something?

No, he wouldn't do that…would he? I don't really know him anymore, if I ever did at all.

As I close myself in my office under the pretense of having lunch at my desk while I finalize the next issue's lineup, I settle into my chair and try to focus.

My desk is situated so that I can take advantage of the views of Pike's Place Market below and the Puget sound beyond. Though it's not quite like Christian's panoramic view of the city from his executive position in the sky, I do enjoy watching the bustling scene below.

We're a small building, one of the earlier ones built near Pike's Place. Which means it's cold in the winter and hot in the summer because the insulation hasn't been updated.

I set my lunch bag on my desk and absently sift through the small stack of short stories. But I can't concentrate.

I pad over to the window. There may or may not be a video out there of Christian flogging me and taking me from behind. As I haven't heard from Bradly, I can't assume he's just going to let it go. From what I know of him, he doesn't just let things go.

When I return to my desk, I find I'm not alone in my office.

"Anastasia Steele…" The voice behind me snakes up my goosepimpling body and into my ears. "How many times must I tell you to eat?"

I flip around, and fall into the arms of the man I love. "When did you get here?"

"Just now. If you weren't so preoccupied with not eating your lunch, you might have noticed me."

Christian immediately engages my lips in his passion, his desperate tongue roiling around with mine.

I try to withdraw. "Christian, we can't do this here."

"Don't worry, I locked the door. I told you, you're to be available whenever I want you."

"What did you find out—is there a video?"

"Don't worry about it," he breathes against my mouth. "There's nothing he can do to us. We belong together."

"That's it?" I question, pulling away. "We're just going to let him get away with that?"

"We'll let him _think_ he's getting away…" he explains. "Right now, though, I need a distraction. He presses his erection into me.

"Christian—"

"Shh… Ana. You need this distraction, too. I can see it all over your worried, little face. Just a quickie—" he unbuttons his pants, dropping them with his boxers to the floor.

Instinctively, I reach for him. His penis hardens even more in my hand.

Unbuttoning me as he goes, his kisses work their way down my chest. But he's not interested in foreplay, not today. He needs the distraction, he said. I decide to take care of him.

I push him onto his back on my desk, only slightly surprised that he lets me. He rests his head on the stack of submissions I was thumbing through and watches me undress. I revel in the delight on his face as I wiggle out of my slacks and let them fall to the floor.

I climb over him, standing with my legs astride him to let him roll my panties down my legs. I think he likes it, judging by the smirk on his perfectly crooked lips. I lower myself and slide onto him, slurping him in with glorious ease.

Waves of sizzling energy ripple through me. Such fullness inside me… Using my leg muscles, I glide up to the tip of his head, drinking in the satisfaction plastered on his face. Then I plunge down his length. I quicken my pace, and soon I'm in a ravenous grind, an addict fiending for my fix.

He matches my tempo, lifting himself forward, my breasts swaying in his eager face as his lips latch on to a nipple. He tugs at it, hardening it with his teeth. The sensation is crippling, sending me over the edge, as his hands skim down my waist and over my hips, reaching around to my bottom, where he kneads my cheeks erotically. I continue to ride him.

I moan softly, careful not to draw unwanted attention from anyone outside my door.

Then Christian breaks from my clutch, peeling my hungry palm from his swelled chest, and hoists me off him without any apparent effort whatsoever.

"Hey, wha—"

"Shhh… lie down," he orders softly. After a brief scrutiny, I obey his command, settling my back onto the hard, cold desk. On his knees, he spreads my legs, his eyes widening with greed, and he scoots in close. Lowering himself over me, elbows on either side of my head, he inserts himself fully on a groan. Mmmm… there's that fullness again…

And he begins slow, tortuous plunges, his pressure against my front wall, sending me into sensory overload. The pressure… oh, the pressure! FUCK! The sensations rise into my chest, spreading throughout my body—so hot, so light. I feel almost dizzy. He picks up his tempo, his thrusts hard, and my hips respond reflexively, wildly. I'm an animal with one single goal.

Then, he slows his pumps. They're controlled, meticulously taking care of my every sensory need.

"You like that?" He pants at my ear, his gyrations an agonizingly slow grind.

"Oh my…" I murmur through shallow breathing. He skims his hand down my curves and around back as my hips swivel. Then I feel it—his finger in my back entrance!

An inaudible murmur escapes my lips. So… many… sensations… down there! The pressure is hot and heavy. My breaths grasp for relief. Until he removes his finger, and his lips claim my mouth, his tongue dancing fervently with mine, possessing me, owning me.

Increasing his drives again, his breathing accelerated and erratic, his body begins to tremor. And all comes together at once.

Flooded by euphoric waves of heated pleasure, my body contracts, then…it comes full force, my orgasm releasing all the pent-up pressure on a long groan.

His eyes roll back as he ejaculates inside me, pulsing like the pound of my heart against his sweat-glistening chest.

"Told you it'd be quick," he whispers, twisting a stray strand of hair away from my sweaty neck. He pecks my nipple, then my lips. We kiss until a knock comes at the door.

We scramble off the desk and into our clothes. I scramble, anyway. Christian seems to think this is funny, slowly shrugging into his slacks.

"I'm with someone," I say through the door.

"Oh, sorry." It's my boss. I know what he wants. He wants my selection for the next issue. I told him I'd have it today.

I look over at the stack of submissions, wrinkled from our quickie. I'm still too distracted to think about work.

"Christian, what are we going to do about Bradly?"

"For now, we won't worry about him. You and I are going to continue our relationship as it's meant to me—between the two of us."

But I can't help but worry. I mean, I just broke up with the guy. Then he saw me having sex with my ex. And he may have recorded the whole ordeal. I have a sinking feeling that he's just getting started.

 **Thanks for reading my story this far. Let me know what you think by faving, adding your review, or sharing. Your feedback means a lot and only helps me improve the story. I appreciate you**.

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	10. Chapter 10

**Fifty Shades of Wrong – Ch 10**

 **I apologize for the long span between this chapter and the last. I've been working on my second novel. It has been no small task!**

 **And now, for Chapter 10…**

Christian's at my bedroom window when I get home from work. He looks furious. And hurt. I don't ask how he got in without Kate here. And I don't ask.

"Some would say there's no going back after what we've been through," I say as I walk in. I've been thinking about it since he left my office this morning. We can't just get back together without giving it some serious thought. I mean, what about Katrina?

I retreat to my bathroom and change into comfy clothes. When I return, Christian's standing right in front of me, his gray eyes burning through me.

I study him. Something must have happened today. I wonder if he learned something of Bradly. But I'm afraid to bring up the sore topic.

"Are you referring to the last three years or the little stunt Bradly pulled?"

"Both," I admit.

"Listen, Ana—"

I put my hand up. "Whatever you're going to say, wait. I have to ask…"

He arches an austere brow.

"Do you still have feelings for Katrina?"

" _Feelings?_ For…that woman? No, Anastasia, I assure you. There is nothing more than business between us."

"Business? I thought—Everyone knows she's— You haven't—"

"What, slept with her? How could I? I can't do the things with her that I can do with you. I can't be who I am with her."

I pace to the window, my subconscious berating me: _You can't seriously be considering this! He enjoys hurting you._

"I thought you two—"

He shushes me with the feather-light graze of his finger along my lip.

"This is all my fault. It was my fault you went to him in the first place. My fault he did this to us—compromised you."

"Christian, you can't blame yourself. I'm a grown woman. I made the choice." However stupid it was.

I look up at him and my heart stops. Even now, with the storm brewing in his eyes, this man is utterly breathtaking.

"You can't punish me anymore. If you want a relationship, it has to be of mutual respect. Promise me."

For a moment, he's pensive, studying me. "You have my respect, Anastasia. And my awe. But I won't promise what you ask."

"Wha—"

He presses a finger to my lips. "Shh…" Cupping my cheek, he says, "Haven't you learned by now? You're my submissive. You'll like everything I do to you. That, I will vow to you."

I think my sex just lurched, anticipating this…promise. I can't be livid at his audacity because when I look into Mr. Grey's eyes, I realize I'm toast.

I perch on the edge of the bed, only capable of gaping at this gorgeous, troubled billionaire. His hands tuck casually into his denim pockets—hanging around his waist _in that way_!

He tilts his head, reading me, and trails a finger down my temple, to my cheek, across my lips, tremulous as a kiss. Sparks fly within, so different than when Bradly made the gesture. And in this moment, I realize it was never a contest. It's always been Christian Grey.

I lean into his touch, allowing my lids to close around my vision. And all I can do is feel him.

"I will never put you through that again." Christian's voice is a warm velvet ribbon draped around my ears.

I feel his hand on my head, caressing my hair, coiling it down my back as he gazes at me. He lowers himself to his knees and scuttles between my legs. Resting his head on my chest, he's not looking at me when he says, "Do you still…care for him?"

My whole body sighs.

He looks up and studies me for a long moment. And I'm thrown back to when Bradly was in my room dishing out his own commands. He was…not the man I knew.

Christian breaks through the memory. "You don't have to tell me."

"Bradly's always been nice enough. He was charming and…gentle."

Christian's eyelids fall to half-mast. "I don't need the details."

"But after what he did, how could I care for him? The man I knew wasn't the real Bradly." I don't go on, my gaze caught on the horror on Christian's beautiful face.

Upon further study of my countenance, he changes drastically and I can see exactly what he's thinking. Though his lips don't show it, his eyes smile.

"I know what you need," he coaxes. "It will require your consent."

I erect my spine. Probably feeling my shift, he looks up at me from between my legs as I peer down at him.

"No," I say. "It's my turn to punish you."

His eyes dance into a thousand sparkles, his lips stretching into a wide, breathtaking smile. "I like where your head is. But my answer is no."

"No?"

He shakes his head to confirm. "I am the dominant in this relationship. You are my submissive."

My jaw drops at yet another of his audacious claims.

He gets up and sits next to me on the bed. Wrapping his fingers around my nape, he pulls me to his kiss. Softly, his tongue twirls with mine, each in an erotic salsa, both juicy and spicy. I pull back.

"No," I say. "You can't—" I stop at the look he gives me, feeling utterly childlike and ineffective.

His eyes hood over, darkening into storm clouds, smoldering and riling and way too turbulent. Abruptly, he's on his feet. Gone is the loving, caring, understanding countenance he's held these few precious minutes. His eyes are so cold, my insides chill several degrees. They're accusatory.

I've made Christian Grey angry.

"I'm not angry," he whispers in a voice much softer than his countenance warrants, answering my fear that's probably plastered all over my face. "I don't want to hurt you. One day…you will understand."

"I know," I admit. I feel his glare burning into me, and drop my gaze to my hands.

"You'll stay away from Bradly?" It's not an order, but a request.

"Are you asking me?" I tease, though I can't shake the rattle in my voice. "Have you finally given up your unyielding need to dominate?"

"Don't test me." A breathtaking grin stretches his cheeks.

Without warning, he attacks my lips. His tongue invades my mouth, strong and demanding, and ardently reclaiming its territory. It pushes mine around. I feel his hands inch up my curves and around my back, just as his teeth clamp over my bottom lip. He balls a fist of my hair, dragging my head from his face, my bottom lip easing from his sensuous bite.

"You know what I'm going to do to you?" he breathes.

"What?" I mumble incoherently as I'm forced by his grip on my hair to look up at those penetrating, gray eyes.

"I'm going to remind you of your submission to me. I'm going to take you—however I please. Understand?"

A shudder ripples through me. I'm turned on—by his threat alone! The tip of my sex tingles with excitement. It's his command that holds me paralyzed. It isn't so much what he says, but _how_ he says it. There's real command in his voice. And velvet.

"Good," he says, burning a trail of kisses across my neck. "Now, Miss Steele. Do I have your consent?"

"Yes."

He produces rope from a bag I didn't see at the end of my bed.

"Arms," he orders.

I know the drill. I lift my arms as he pulls my shirt over my head. He removes my bra, causing my breasts to fall heavily.

"On the bed," he commands.

I do as I'm bid, leaning back on a pillow.

"Hands." I obey and he ties the rope around my wrists. Tight. Then, he hoists my hands above my head and knots the other end of the rope to my headboard. His fingers trail down my arms as he returns to me. When his hands reach my legs, he pulls me down the bed so that the rope digs into my wrists.

He spreads my legs, his eyes widening with greed as he scoots in close. Lowering himself over me, elbows on either side of my head, he plunges in.

"Mmmm…." There's that fulness I've come to cherish.

He starts slow with his tortuous plunges, his pressure tapping my front wall, sending me into sensory overload. The pressure….

The sensations rise to my chest, spreading throughout my body—so hot, so light. I feel almost dizzy. He increases his tempo, his thrusts hard and powerful.

My hips respond reflexively, wildly.

"You like it?" He pants in my ear, his gyrations an agonizingly slow grind.

"Oh my…yes, Christian …" I murmur what I can through my shallow breathing.

He skims a hand down my curves and around back, grasping my behind. There it is…his finger in my back entrance.

An inaudible murmur escapes my lips. The sensations down there are…torturous! The pressure, hot and heavy. I gasp for relief.

Then his lips claim my mouth, his tongue pushing mine around in a fervent chase, possessing me, owning me, staking his renewed claim. Increasing his drives again, his breathing accelerated and erratic, his body tremors over me. And all culminates at once.

Inundated by waves of heated euphoria, my body contracts, then…on a long groan, my body lets go. My release gushes all over his hardon.

His eyes roll back as he releases his seed inside me, his penis pulsing like the blood pumping through our veins.

He collapses on top of me, whispering in my ear. "You are my submissive. Remember that."

 **Thanks again for reading this far. Please fav, comment, and share. As I might have mentioned earlier, I can't promise to update every week anymore. I will finish this story, though I'm afraid it's straying from your expectations. By the way, if you'd like a full story now, you can find my two books on Amazon by searching for my name, Samantha C. Knightley. The two novels are** _ **Lord of the Tower**_ **and** _ **The Ride**_ **. Remember to add your review – I don't have any yet! Thanks again. I appreciate you.**

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